


Falling forwards is not my choice

by Pinetasticapple



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post His Last Vow, Season 3 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinetasticapple/pseuds/Pinetasticapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock had to learn how to deal with his childish nightmares when he was young. His adult fears might be worse to deal with than what he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling forwards is not my choice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SD_Ryan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SD_Ryan/gifts).



> For this-simple-mind for the johnlockchallenges Valentine's gift exchange. Prompt was “Sherlock has a nightmare and John helps him through it”

Sherlock had to learn how to control his mind from having nightmares ever since he was a child; the first time he experienced one, he refused to sleep out of fear until Mycroft told him that dreams were product of his mind, therefore, he should be able to control them. But when he recurred to drugs years later, the nightmares returned to take control of his conscience, yet his brain would usually feel so dull during those times he would just succumb to the restless nights and episodes of vivid images and distorted noises.

When he began to help the Yard with cases, the nightmares, even the dreams, had almost vanished in order to give more priority to solving the puzzles. It had been good for a few years, even if his sleep schedules were unhealthy, as how his flatmate and sudden friend, John would put.

However, the nightmares came back after the pool incident with John strapped to a bomb and the sudden fear of a possible explosion that would harm, if not kill, both of them. It took him days to trust his mind enough to attempt some rest for his body, and weeks to actually sleep without repeating the events in his head, those restless nights filled with his mind creating worse scenarios. It didn’t matter how many times he told, snapped at himself that they were impossible, completely illogical but his subconscious didn’t waver in giving those images. If Sherlock had to be honest with him days later was that, those events had been proof enough of the change of his feelings towards his flatmate, at least, a start in understanding them.

But nothing, not even the events during the Baskerville case where he had succumbed to that hallucinogen, was compared to those dreadful two years since he was forced to fake his death in order to save those few he actually had grown to care about.

Two years of running, escaping and hiding in order to dismantle Moriarty’s web. Two years of being away from home, from 221 B, from John.

His sleep had lessened and the few hours were filled with nightmares. He had spent more than four hundred days agonizing with images of John getting shot, John screaming his name for help or despair, John running after him while he was lying on the floor with fake blood on his face… only that in those dreadful moments it was real blood on his head. When the events of his supposed death took some wicked rest, his mind would repeat the chasing, the escaping, the fear running in his veins, thinking that he would get caught, that he would not be able to survive what he was facing. He suffered twisted versions of the torture he had gone through, the screaming and pain repeating over and over until he found a way to keep his mind awake and away from the memories.

Which is why, it had been a relief to be back in London after so long. It hurt at first of course, his first encounter with John after all that time, and his friend’s reaction being more than what he had predicted –he should have prevented the damage to his face-but eventually he was forgiven. It had taken another bomb to do so but John had forgiven Sherlock. He believed for a split of second that things would somehow get back to how they were before.

Too bad de didn’t see coming all that had happened with Mary. Mary who had been there for John when Sherlock couldn’t be, who walked down the aisle to marry the man Sherlock had fought his way through hell and back in order to keep safe, Mary who had, in the end, turned out to be nothing more than a persona, a façade who had shot –and killed- Sherlock. And yet, Sherlock had not only crawled his way back to life but somehow convinced John to forgive her, because he had lost his chance to be with him the moment he decided to risk everything, his reputation, his freedom, his life, for that man.

He never thought the outcome of all those events would be for John to go back to him.

It had seem to be thanks to Moriarty –or some personification of him, Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure yet- for the detective to have been saved of what was a death sentence, sparing the sadness of leaving forever –honestly it had took him four minutes in the end, he was not a sentimentalist for that- and yet, what had surprised him was for John to return to 221 B a few weeks after that event.

It didn’t take much observation to understand what had happened between him and Mary. Something had felt as the last straw of Mary’s lies that John wouldn’t find so easily to forgive. Sherlock knew what it was right after John entered the flat, but no words were needed in that moment, it wasn’t a time for him to show how his deduction skills worked. John didn’t want to hear about it, Sherlock would comply with that wish.

After that, it just took a few days for the uncomfortable silence to completely dissipate, an attempted peace offer with some tea that made John let out a laugh, a couple of weeks for a case to come up that would get them back in the game, and just a few hours for John to tell him, between his attempts to catch up some air after a successful chase, his cheeks flushed because of the run and the cold air surrounding them.

“You know I love you too”

Sherlock hadn’t needed an explanation for those words that took most of his composure away; he didn’t need to ask John how he was aware of Sherlock’s feelings for the doctor, instead kissing John with a need that had grown for years, a satisfactory grin forming on his lips when his friend, now partner, kissed back with more enthusiasm that what he had thought, hands messed up between grabbing each other’s coats just to bring them closer.

Still, even after that moment of bliss and the ones that followed afterwards, the difference in their interaction with each other, the small touches that made Sherlock show a small smile, the attention John would get that earned a peaceful sigh, despite that bliss between them, the nightmares had found a way to lurk back into Sherlock’s mind.

He had noticed that the times he slept with John on an almost regular schedule, his mind would find some peace with resting. But when he had cases, when his mind was whirling too fast, his defences would go down.

They had of course changed and became a horrible routine with each night Sherlock found some sleep after working himself out too much. The pool was gone, the roof, even the tortuous moments when he was captured. This time was worse.

It hadn’t passed that much of time for them to become more present. A regular morning in the flat with Sherlock texting Lestrade with information of the real culprit of a case they had been over for almost a week.

Sherlock let out a satisfied smirk when he sent it but John was not around to celebrate the post case bliss. Only then did he realize how exhausted his body was and decided just to rest for a moment on the couch.

_Sherlock was running. He didn’t know where exactly and that bothered him but he knew he had to run. He had to run away from someone but he couldn’t see who. He ran and ran but the hallways were narrowing around him, pain invading his torso and increasing with each step he gave. He needed to escape and to find someone but it hurt, it hurt so much to move._

_He found a door, his hands were trembling when he reached the doorknob but somehow he was able to open it…_

_A gun shot received him on the other side._

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked around in a frantic pace; his chest was heaving and his body felt cold thanks to the sweat on his skin.

A warm hand lied on his shoulder and he nearly jumped in shock until he realized it belonged to John.

“I’m fine” Sherlock groaned, his voice feeling hoarse. He cleared his throat, he must have yelled in his sleep “it was an unpleasant dream, that’s all”

John sighed, “You mean a nightmare, and it sounded really intense”

“Hm” Sherlock sat up from the uncomfortable position he had ended on the sofa “Matters not, it was just…”

“Exhaustion” John cut him off “you haven’t slept since when? Monday?”

“Important case John I hardly had the time to…”

“I know, I know” John cut him off again, smiling at Sherlock’s frown “But you just solved it I assume, it was obvious you would collapse soon”

Sherlock hummed, quickly taking notice of the window. The sun was setting, which would mean he had just slept at the most two hours. He felt a soft press against his head, John’s lips kissing his curls as he proceeded towards the kitchen for some tea. Sherlock lied back down, fingertips against each other and his eyes fixated on the ceiling.

It had been just one time; there was nothing to worry about. He was almost sure it wouldn’t happen again. He would enjoy some time with John that evening, already becoming night and the next day he would sulk for another case. He was sure that was going to happen. And it was happening when hours later he was drifting to sleep thanks to John’s steady heartbeat.

He was mistaken.

_Blood._

_A burning feeling spreading on his chest. He couldn’t see who shot him but he knew. He already knew who had done it. He staggered, losing balance of his body._

_“John…!”_

_No one called back. He lurched but his feet weren’t responding, the room was tilting and he tried calling John’s name over and over but he was screaming to no one._

_He tried to scream but no sound came out of his mouth that time._

“S…ck!”

_Fall, he had to fall backwards but his body was leaning forwards. He had to change that, he would die if he fell forwards but his body was not responding. Fall backwards, he had done it before… but he was dying this time. He was going to die._

“Sh…ock!”

_He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to leave John alone, not after all they had gone through. Not now please._

_He had to fall backwards. He had to fall… he had to…_

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock gasped, his eyes widened in fear. Arms were wrapped around his middle and he almost tried to get free when he realized he was inches from falling off the mattress. He was in his room, he was safe. He felt cold and shivering but his skin was sweating just like hours ago and his chest was moving fast with his fast breathing and the pounding of his heart.

“J… John?” he tried out, tense muscles beginning to slowly relax when he heard John’s voice right behind him, pulling him back to the centre of the bed, turning his body so his nose would be against John’s neck.

John waited until Sherlock’s breathing had calmed down, a hand caressing his back while his other arm was wrapped around the waist.

“Want to tell me what was it about?”

Sherlock leaned against the touch; the warm sensation of John’s hand against his back was comfort enough for him to properly relax. He shouldn’t have a reason to be afraid; it was all in the past. But John’s presence and the heaviness in his chest made him want to talk.

“It seems like I will have to bear the memories of that night” he started, fingers idly resting on that side of his torso, where a pink keloid scar now adorned his skin “it was an image alteration of the events that led to…” he cleared his throat “it was just that”

“You were screaming my name Sherlock” John muttered with his nose buried in Sherlock’s hair “why?”

Sherlock looked up and pulled away from John just to try to look at his face “John… you can’t possibly believe I dreamt about you doing…it is not like that” Sherlock felt vulnerable. He didn’t know how to proceed with expressing what his nightmares had been about, how afraid and hurt he had felt when he couldn’t see or hear John in the labyrinth of his subconscious.

“I don’t mean that love” John said “but I understand” he whispered, his eyes fixed on Sherlock’s while showing a small sad smile, “I still have nightmares sometimes, at least not of the war anymore” Sherlock stiffened, already knowing what John meant “but when I wake up, I know I am waking up with the knowledge that you are close” he smiled “either you are playing the violin or muttering just outside of the room or better yet… you are sleeping right here in my arms, like now” he pressed his nose against Sherlock’s, his words barely audible now.

“You have always been there for me Sherlock, but you don’t have to face them alone”

John closed the distance and placed a soft kiss on Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock closed his eyes as he kissed back, John’s words still present in his mind. It felt warm like everything from John… but it also felt reassuring, comforting but most of all, it felt safe.

“So believe me when I say I will always be there for you, no matter what”

Sherlock lied back down, his arms wrapped around John with no intention of letting go, a sigh escaping his lips when John just moved a hand away to grab back the covers that had landed near their knees, covering them for the rest of the night.

It was like that how Sherlock tried to regain back some sleep. To think of what John had said, that he would be there for him even in his dreams. The idea sounded ridiculous, it was a subconscious state, not somewhere another person would actually get into.

But somehow, Sherlock believed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Being honest here this is the second time I dare to actually show my Sherlock fanfics (I am way too scared to do it) and I really really hope you liked it... or that it was something similar to what you looked for.


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